To Prove a Woman Wrong
by OrangeShipper
Summary: FLUFF ALERT! The latest addition to the Crawley brood provides a challenge for Matthew. Challenge fic - not to be taken seriously! NEW: Epilogue - Does Mary really fall so easily when Matthew so much as looks fondly upon her?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: _So, one evening my dear friend Sarah and I were watching Lark Rise to Candleford. (Series 2, ep 1 - the christmas special). While watching, it struck us that a few lines would be brilliant when put into an M/M context. We wrote down all the amusing lines and I was challenged to somehow write them into an M/M fic, and, voila! As such, it is really not very serious at all, so please don't take it too seriously!_

_Consider this an introductory chapter; the next will have the Lark Rise lines in. I consider it to be set in the same "fluffiverse" of Silvestria's _'While the Paint Dries'_, so thank you to her for letting me reference it! And thanks to Silverduck for giving me the idea on which to hang the lines, and for beta-ing!_

_WARNING: EXTREME fluff ahead! You have been warned! I hope you enjoy :) (Sarah darling, this is for you!)_

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><p><strong>To Prove a Woman Wrong<strong>

Matthew was sitting up in bed, attempting to read some background details on the trade dispute case he was currently working on before going to sleep. Though his work was normally reserved purely for his small study, this evening he had begun to feel an ache in his shoulders from hunching over his desk all day, and so had decided that he might as well do his reading in some relative comfort.

His wife, however, was not making it very easy for him.

Mary lay curled against him, her head on his shoulder (looking very disparagingly at what he was reading). Her arm was draped tenderly across him, and her fingers traced idle circles on his chest. He was well enough able to read like that, his only concession to affection being an arm settled comfortably around her shoulders; the only difficulty arising when he needed to turn the page. No, it was not her position that distracted him, nor even the tantalising sensation of her nails grazing across his skin. This evening, it was the numerous irritable little sighs indicating her annoyance at his lack of attention, making it impossible for him to concentrate for more than a few sentences at a time. After reading one particularly wordy passage four times with no success, he closed the file rather more loudly than necessary, and set it down resignedly on the bedside cabinet. Settling his head against hers, he gave a quiet sigh.

"What is it, Mary?" He spoke lightly, knowing that it was probably only a slight matter. His fingers began to unconsciously twist gently into her hair. He waited, while she gathered her tumbling thoughts.

"How did we get to this again, Matthew?" There was a slight grumble to her tone. Knowing full well that she was referring to the expectation of their fifth child in but seven years of marriage, he raised his eyebrows, a slight smirk playing about his lips.

"I think you know very well how that happened, darling!" He smiled as she gave him a playful slap of rebuke. She pushed herself up a little, turning her head to meet his eyes.

"I know _that_ very well!" She could not hold her teasing glare for long. "I only meant..." She relaxed back against his shoulder, taking a breath. "Do not misunderstand me, I couldn't love our darling angels more, and this one" (she patted her belly gently) "I shall love no less, but... Matthew, five children! It is a lot to deal with!"

Matthew hugged her slightly closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He had to admit that she was right. It was not that they struggled to cope with the care of their current brood of four. Crawley House was admittedly becoming a little tight for comfort; though things had been made easier by Isobel relocating to a comfortable cottage in the village soon after the birth of their first child, the rooms were now beginning to fill. But it was not a problem. Money had never been a particular trouble either; Matthew had received handsome amounts from his war services, and since had continued to progress within the law firm. Mary's parents had been extremely kind, and very generous in providing for their grandchildren. But now, with their fifth on the way, expected in only a few months, Matthew felt he could accept no more of it.

"Darling, we'll be fine. Arabella is old enough now to not require quite so much attention, so really it will be very little extra trouble." He thought for a moment, trying to convince himself as well as her. "No, I think our main trial will be space in the nursery, with little Lizzie requiring the crib still. We shall need another."

"Mmm." Mary murmured her agreement. "Mama said the same thing only last week. You know that she and Papa would want to gift us one, for the baby." It seemed almost pointless to object; Lord and Lady Grantham seemed to bestow a more impressive gift with each child.

"Absolutely not." Matthew suddenly declared after a moment's thought. Mary turned awkwardly to raise her eyebrows at him, but he was adamant. "Your parents have done far too much for us. I don't want to accept any more charity from them, Mary."

"I think it unfair to call it charity, Matthew!" Mary exclaimed, sitting up a little to turn fully to him.

"I know. I know it is not like that." He shrugged. "But they have given us so much for the children, and... Darling, by all means they may be generous, but something so special as a new crib, I would like to come from us. I hope that does not make me ungrateful or unkind." He reached across to place a hand comfortingly on Mary's rounded belly, covering her hand with his own.

"No.." Mary thought for a moment and quietly relented. "No, it does not. You're right, it would be nice for that to come from us."

Matthew considered things for a moment, distractedly playing with Mary's hair as he thought. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he turned excitedly to her. Mary raised her eyebrows, wondering what on earth he'd hit upon now as he clutched her hand.

"You know, Mary, don't you think it would be wonderful if I were to build a crib myself?"

"What?" She shook her head in resigned wonder at him, but he was undeterred.

"For our child to sleep in a crib made by my own hands. Don't you think it's a splendid idea?"

"Oh Matthew..." Mary suddenly laughed at his excitement and wrapped her arms around him fondly, tucking her head into his shoulder. "I do love you! But darling, must I remind you that your skills lie in the field of law, and not of carpentry?" She grinned into his shoulder, placing a small trail of affectionate kisses. She fondly remembered the enthusiasm which had gripped him during her first pregnancy to decorate the nursery himself. The bright little line of ducklings along the skirting board made her smile without fail every time she entered the room. Sometimes, she thought him utterly mad, but wonderfully so.

"I'm not thinking of a career change! Merely a pastime. But you never know, it may turn out I have a flair for it!"

"Heaven help us! I'm not sure a carpenter would be very befitting for a future earl! At least as a lawyer you are somewhat respectable, dearest!" Mary twisted around, folding her arms upon his chest and resting her chin on them, smiling fondly at him. "You know, I think that you take on these schemes because you're nervous. That's really quite endearing!"

Matthew frowned gently, easing Mary tenderly off before rolling onto his side. He settled down into the soft covers, tucking her comfortingly against him, placing a soft kiss to the back of her shoulder.

"I'm glad you find it so, darling!" His voice dropped a little lower. "Maybe I am. You might think I would be less so this time, having had a little practise at fatherhood by now!"

"Hmm, just a little..." Mary murmured peacefully. "What a good job you'll be getting some more then, my love."

"I suppose it is." He curled his arm around her a little tighter as his voice dropped to barely above a quiet whisper. "And I could not be more glad of it."

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><p>Mary had hoped that a night's sleep would have rid Matthew of the odd impulse to build a crib himself for their unborn child. She was wrong.<p>

A few days later, she sat in the early evening, happily playing some unspecific clapping game with little Julia. The three year old was sat upon her knee, giggling and smacking Mary's upheld hands. Mary laughed in delight. She was making the most of being able to give her undivided attention to their third child, whilst Arabella and Reginald were with the nanny, and Lizzie asleep in the nursery. She looked up eagerly as a faint noise floated through the window, the familiar chug and rumble that signalled Matthew's return home from work. She scooped Julia up into her arms as she stood, tucking a golden curl back into place on the child's head.

"We want to look our best for Papa now, don't we!" she murmured with a smile, to herself as much as to Julia.

With the little girl settled upon her hip, Mary stepped outside to greet her husband. As his motorcycle wheeled around the corner, she could not prevent a smile. The smile quickly dropped, however, when she saw what was in his sidecar.

"Matthew!" She exclaimed as he drew to a stop and dismounted. "What on earth is that!" Her eyes landed, widened in horror, upon the pile of timber thrown into the small vehicle.

"It's for the crib, darling!" He said, pulling his motorcycle helmet off. "Well I need materials with which to make it, don't I! There's a timber merchant I know of in Ripon, I stopped there on my way home and got this."

"Are you really so fixed upon this, Matthew?" Mary raised her eyebrows. "You do not know how to build cribs! How will you possibly manage?"

"I will manage." Matthew took a step towards her. "I have done some woodwork in my youth, and see no reason why the skills should not have remained with me. I sought some advice at the timber merchants, and am feeling quite confident!" His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

"Oh my dear..." Mary smiled, shaking her head.

"Do you think me not up to the task, Mary?" He raised his eyebrows in challenge.

"I would not dare to make such a judgement!" she insisted, before a smile appeared on her lips. "If I did not... Well, you shall just have to prove me wrong!"

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my darling!" Matthew grinned mischievously at her. Suddenly his expression turned to mock hurt. "Anyway, this is a fine greeting for my return from a hard day's work!" Mary chuckled, stepping towards him.

"How remiss of me. Hello, darling!"

Matthew smiled, closing the distance between them. He placed a fond kiss on his daughter's rosy cheek, grinning at her delighted clap and cry of "Papa!" before turning his attention to his wife. He kissed her sweetly, pulling back and looking wonderingly into her eyes. It never ceased to amaze him how, after seven years, every kiss still took his breath away. Mary softly placed her free hand on his chest, before taking hold of the lapel of his leather coat, pulling him towards her for a more lingering embrace. Matthew responded in delight . Suddenly, his brief moment of bliss was interrupted by a playful slap on the cheek from a giggling Julia. Mary laughed at Matthew's gasp of mock horror, before he swept the little girl into the air, laughing as she squealed excitedly. He settled his daughter into his arms, his eyes turning to Mary with an amused sparkle.

"I shall prove you wrong, my love!"

"I very much hope you do," she responded dryly, though a smile played about her lips. "The amount of effort you will no doubt throw into it, it would be a terrible shame if you did not!"

Looping her arm through his, she turned her head with a last despairing look at the timber heaped into his motorcycle, before they stepped inside.

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><p>AN: _Did you make it to the end without a sick bag? I'd like to reiterate that this is very much not to be taken seriously! I love the idea of sweet and happily married M/M, it's great in my head but I hope it hasn't come out too cheesily. Reviews would be massively appreciated so I know I haven't scared you all off! (Though constructive criticisms are also very welcomed!)_

_Thank you for reading :)_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: _Thank you so much for your responses on the last chapter! I'm very relieved people didn't think it so sickly as I'd worried! _

_Disclaimer: there's a couple of Lark Rise lines in this one. Let me know if you'd like to know what they were!_

_Huge thanks to Silverduck and Silvestria for editing advice, they've both made it much better! Hope you enjoy :)_

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 2<span>**

"I'm quite afraid he's gone utterly mad!" Mary wailed to her mother, Isobel and Violet in the sunlit drawing room of Downton Abbey.

"Does he really mean to build it all himself?" Cora asked disbelievingly, as she distractedly bounced Julia on her knee.

"Oh, I can easily believe it," muttered Isobel. "Once Matthew gets an idea in his head, there has never been any stopping him!" She looked down, smiling at baby Elizabeth's fascination with her brooch.

"No, so I have found out!" Mary despaired.

"And to think," Violet chuckled dryly from her seat, "we all congratulated ourselves on thinking him such a sensible young man when you married!" After this brief interlude, she turned her attention back to Arabella and Reginald's wild story about the toad they had discovered in the garden that morning. She wasn't entirely sure which conversation perturbed her more; their toad or Matthew's wild carpentry obsession.

"Oh I am sure he is very sensible whilst at work. He is most of the time really," Mary reasoned. She cast her eyes over at her two eldest on the couch, making sure they were not hounding their great-grandmother too much. "It just seems that his senses desert him every time a baby comes into the picture!"

Cora and Isobel smiled sympathetically at Mary.

"Yes, darling; it would seem so, wouldn't it." Cora chuckled.

They all smiled for a moment as they recalled each of Matthew's 'baby projects', as his enthusiasms had been coined. The nursery was first, for Arabella. Matthew had been overcome by the notion that there should be something of 'him' in the room, for the baby to feel some connection to it. He had renewed this sentiment fresh with each child. The nursery had been completed for Reginald, being finished off by the chirpy row of ducklings. Matthew's next project for Julia was the garden, replanted and turned into a haven for whilst he was away fighting. And when he had more time after the war with the arrival of Elizabeth, he had thrown himself heart and soul into renovating the ghost of a summer house at the bottom of the garden. Mary had always considered this to have saved him from his despondency following the war, and so she loved it perhaps the most of all. She loved all of them, really, though she still thought him wonderfully mad.

Mary shook herself as a shriek from Arabella snapped her back to reality.

"Mama! He is hurting me!"

"Oh, children!" Mary scolded her two eldest, who had grown bored with their tale and had started to jostle each other. "Please do be careful! Or you shall be going straight to bed when we return home." They both looked suitably chastened for a moment, but swiftly returned to giggling over some private joke.

She sighed deeply, rolling her eyes heavenwards. These four were a handful enough; could she really cope with another? And what then? Would this be the last? She flushed a delicate shade of pink as she considered how poorly she and Matthew seemed to restrain themselves. Though her body was beginning to show the strain (and she certainly felt it now), her husband seemed to express no such objections. Isobel looked up from Elizabeth's delightfully chubby, smiling face then, catching Mary's sigh and the roll of her eyes, and guessing their cause.

"Well, Mary, I am afraid you have only yourselves to blame for your hardship!" Isobel suggested mischievously, raising an eyebrow.

"I disagree entirely that it is anything to do with me!" Mary exclaimed forcefully at her mother-in-law. "I place the blame wholly on Matthew. I cannot help it; there is a baby every time he so much as looks fondly upon me! It is quite unfair!"

"Oh, Mary," laughed Cora light-heartedly. "I hardly think that's fair on poor Matthew!"

"My dear, I believe they say it takes two to tango." Violet muttered quietly.

"Granny!" Mary exclaimed in horror, as Cora and Isobel sniggered quietly, sharing a knowing smile.

Mary slumped back into her chair, realising that it was probably pointless to protest. She surveyed her four darling angels, all quite contentedly amusing themselves in some form or other with their grandmothers, glad of the brief respite from responsibility. No, she supposed she could not complain; she would not have them, or Matthew, any other way.

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><p>Matthew had decided to set himself up a small workshop in his summerhouse towards the back of the garden. Though it was not quite summer still, the leaves beginning to turn golden, it served the purpose well. He had enjoyed woodwork when he was a younger man, and was enjoying turning his hand to it again, pleased to find that the skills had not quite left him.<p>

For the past week or so, he had taken to holing himself up in there of an evening, making the most of the remaining natural light before dinner. The large windows of the summerhouse let the light in well, and provided a pleasant atmosphere in which to work, with the fresh autumn breeze carrying through. He had always felt content in there, and often sought repose there with Mary whenever they found the strains of family life a little too much to bear. They both devoted themselves so wholly to their precious children, that sometimes they needed to remember each other also; and they loved the undisturbed solace they found together in the summerhouse.

One evening such as this, he was busying himself marking the timber carefully where he should cut. He checked and rechecked his plans (carefully drawn up with the aid and expertise of the merchant in Ripon), measuring, marking and labelling each piece with great care and attention. He bent over the workbench he had set up, his jacket and tie lying discarded at the side, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Having settled into his own little familiar rhythm, he was startled by a timid knock at the door. He looked up from his bent position, his eyes shining inquisitively. A smile lit up his features as his son poked his head tentatively around the door.

"Papa?" Reginald slowly came in. The small boy, only four years old, grinned to see the smile on his father's face. Everyone had been most relieved when the Crawley's second child was a boy. Robert, particularly, had been very proud of his son-in-law for achieving what he had not been able to; even if now, he must admit that he was glad he had not. Reginald very much took after his father; though his hair was dark like Mary's, his features and crystalline blue eyes reflected Matthew's clearly, much to his father's pride.

"Reginald! Hello, my boy!" Matthew stuck his pencil behind his ear and came around the table, ruffling his son's hair fondly. "What have you been doing all day?"

"Done sums with Miss Beecham. Boring." Reginald pouted adorably as he clutched Matthew's hand with both of his own. "This looks more fun! What do you do, Papa?" An eager smile lit the little boy's face.

"Sums all day?" Matthew echoed, sounding quite horrified. "My poor young man! How have you coped?" He looked affectionately down at his son, smiling warmly. "You're quite right, this is more fun. I'm building a crib for your baby brother or sister, when they arrive. See?" He indicated the timber on the worktop, Reginald's eyes following his point curiously. "I need to mark all the wood carefully so that I know where to cut it, then I can hammer it all together to make a lovely little crib, like Lizzie has."

Reginald nodded sagely.

"Do I help?" He peered up at Matthew with wide, blinking eyes. Matthew raised an eyebrow in surprise for a moment, before a keen smile spread across his face.

"Of course! Come around here, I'll show you."

Taking Reginald's hand, he returned to the other side of the workbench. He swiftly dragged across a storage box from the corner of the room, and helped the boy onto it so that he could easily reach the work surface. Reginald spread his hands, looking eagerly at all the wood and tools in front of him. Matthew stood behind, indicating for Reginald to take the ruler and thick pencil. He covered his son's hands with his own, and guided him to hold the ruler in the correct place, making firm marks with the pencil, murmuring quiet instructions in his ear as they went. They both grinned proudly when the first was done, and moved onto the next, Matthew showing Reginald carefully on his plan where each piece would eventually go.

In was in this manner, some time later, that Mary found them. She had sent Reginald in fifteen minutes ago to find out what time Matthew would be ready for dinner; Mrs Bird was growing frustrated and Mary was damned if he wasn't going to have his alone this evening! How dare he miss dinner over his ridiculous enthusiasm! She swept as agitatedly down the garden as she could, her hand pressed protectively to her large belly, and grasped the door handle to the summerhouse with a face like thunder.

She could not maintain the fury of her features when she beheld the sight in front of her. Her face softened, tears almost springing to her eyes as she watched Matthew tenderly guiding their son's hands. How emotional pregnancy made her! She shook her head, though she could not deny that it would warm her heart regardless. Matthew was a wonderful father, so tender and affectionate with their children that sometimes she loved him so much that she didn't quite know how to deal with it. Her frustration utterly melted away in but a moment. She quietly cleared her throat, smiling as the two most important men in her life slowly realised her presence and looked up, both pairs of blue eyes shining at her.

"Reginald." Her tone was chastising but her eyes sparkled, and she could not hide a smile. "I am glad to see you helping your father, but why did I send you down here?"

"Um..." Mary shared a playful smile with her husband as their son pursed his lips, wrinkling his nose as he thought. He suddenly gasped, twisting round to gaze up at Matthew. "Oh! Papa! Mother would like to know... What time you will have dinner? Or Mrs Bird would be cross."

Matthew rubbed the boy's back, looking apologetically at Mary.

"Why thank you, Reginald! Mary, I am sorry... Save mine to heat for later, please apologise to Mrs Bird."

"I will do no such thing!" Mary exclaimed, her previous resolve having flown out of her mind at the sight of father and son. "Matthew Crawley, you will eat with your family, is that quite clear?" She folded her arms carefully across her belly, raising her eyebrows challengingly at him. He grinned back at her challenge.

"It would appear I have little choice!" He said warmly.

"Good!" Mary replied briskly. "Now, Reginald. Run along back to the house, and please will you tell Mrs Bird that we shall be ready for dinner in one hour. Apologise to her for your Papa being so silly. Then you may rejoin Arabella in the nursery." Reginald nodded sharply, pleased to be entrusted with the responsibility of a message. He would not let his mother down this time! With a swift hug for his father, and a rather more difficult one for his mother, the little boy marched purposefully out of the summer house and down the garden.

With Reginald out of the way, Mary allowed herself to more fully consider the slightly dishevelled state of her husband. She leaned against the doorframe, allowing her lips to curl upwards into an appreciative smile. Her eyes looked him leisurely up and down, taking in his bared forearms and the softly pulsing skin at the base of his throat, normally concealed by his tie which had been flung across the back of a chair. His cheeks were flushed slightly from the work, and his hair delightfully ruffled where he had run his hand through it in thought. The pencil thrust behind his ear simply completed his appeal. Mary sighed a little, her heart pulsing a little faster. She suddenly realised that no sooner had Reginald left, than Matthew had bent down once more to his work, without even the slightest glance at her. Mary pursed her lips, standing up a little straighter; she was not having that!

"Will an hour be enough, dear?" she queried sweetly. "To finish what you are doing?"

Matthew barely glanced up.

"It should be, thank you darling." He bent his head again, muttering quietly to himself. "I just need to..." He grunted sharply in frustration as his pencil nib snapped off. He sighed, looking up then at Mary. "I'm sorry that I distracted Reginald, but he didn't even mention that he had a message when he came in!"

"No. Well, never mind that now," Mary's smooth voice made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle enticingly, as he cottoned on to the dark look in her eyes. He grasped the edge of the table a little more firmly, raising an eyebrow.

"Mary... You have that tone of voice about you again..." His own voice came out much deeper than he had intended, quite surprising himself. Mary's brows rose in an appeal of innocence, though her slight blush betrayed her.

"I don't know what you mean, my dearest!" She smoothed her dress distractedly, whilst fixing her eyes upon him heatedly. "I assure you, I am quite put out at your neglect to consider when you might dine with your family."

"Oh," Matthew pursed his lips, considering. "You're quite right darling, I have been thoughtless." He cautiously made his way around to the front of the table, trailing his fingers along its surface as he moved. Mary was somehow transfixed by this, and felt a warm blush creep up her neck. Finally, Matthew leaned back against it casually. "I wonder how I might make it up to you?" he smirked suggestively, holding his arms out to her. Mary's eyes flashed to his, and she gulped as she saw them darken. Taking a deep breath, she straightened herself as haughtily as she could manage in her condition, determinedly fixing him with a reproachful gaze.

"I really should be very cross, you know." Mary insisted sharply, even as she found herself crossing the small room to enter his embrace. "You spend far too much time in here, I feel like I hardly see you!" Matthew drew her into his arms and kissed the tip of her nose in way of apology. "But... Then... You look very handsome down here in your little workshop, you look... Almost quite undone, dear Matthew!" Her voice took on a low, husky quality. She placed one hand on his warm chest, enjoying the feel of his heart speeding up a fraction, as her other reached up to affectionately sweep back the hair that had flopped across his forehead. To her surprise after their tantalising play, Matthew raised his eyebrows in mock offence, grasping her arms lightly and holding her away from him.

"I have been slaving in here for days, toiling to build our own unborn child a crib, and all my wife can say is 'handsome'?" He pretended to sound hurt. "There's a woman's thinking for you!" Mary flashed him a quick frown of reproach at his remark, before looking as though she were thinking carefully a moment.

"Yes!" She eventually smiled sweetly at him. "That is all I have to say!" before she swiftly silenced any objection he might have by placing a soft, scintillating kiss to his lips.

Matthew drew in a sharp breath of pleasant surprise, his lips tingling where she had brushed against them. He looked rather foolish, simply gazing transfixed at her, having temporarily lost all power of reaction. Mary laughed softly; she still found no end of entertainment in being able to render him such with so simple a little thing as a swift kiss when he wasn't expecting it.

"I thought you were supposed to be cross with me..." he breathed out, his voice a strained, ragged whisper.

"Do you never listen, dearest? I said I _should_ be." Mary draped her arms around his neck and brought her face so close to his that her breath tickled delightfully against his lips. His eyes clouded over unwittingly as shivers of desire swept through him at her teasing. Her voice was low and seductive. "That," she punctuated this by pressing her lips sweetly to his and murmuring against them, "is an _entirely_ different matter."

Matthew fell swiftly into delirium, having lost all sense of anything around him but her entrancing proximity. As her lips brushed tantalisingly across his, he sighed deeply in contentment, his eyes fluttering closed as she finally allowed him to kiss her fully. Building in intensity, he poured all his withheld passion into the kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around her and drawing her in as closely as he was able to. Mary smiled against his lips, relishing the comforting, thrilling feel of him against her, rejoicing in the passion she could practically feel emanating from him. Tingling all over, she clasped his face tenderly between her hands, unconsciously stroking his cheeks. She ran her hands down and across his shoulders before sliding them up around the back of his neck, twisting her fingers into his hair to hold him deliciously against her.

She gasped in pleasure as he deepened the kiss, letting out a soft whimper as she felt his hands roam enticingly over her, every sensation heightened and sharpened behind her closed eyes. She pressed herself still more eagerly against him, shivering with delight. Lightheaded, driven almost to breaking point by the sound of her pleasure and the tightening of her grip against him, Matthew was forced to suddenly throw his hands backwards to steady himself on the workbench. A crashing clatter sounded as a pile of prepared timber was swept to the floor. He tore himself to glance quickly at the sound, but for a second only; he could not care less about the timber just now. He swiftly recovered himself, glancing scorchingly into Mary's eyes before returning his attentions thoroughly to her lips and her body. His eyes slipped closed in pleasure as he relaxed, sinking into the warm, familiar, heady bliss of intimacy with his wife.

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><p>AN: _Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you thought, any comments welcomed! There's more sickly sweetness to come still, I hope you've enjoyed it anyway. Thank you!_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: _Thank you again for your responses to Chapter 2! I'm afraid this chapter is less exciting, but I hope you still enjoy it! Thanks as always to Silverduck for helping get it better! _

_Disclaimer: More Lark Rise lines in this one. I think at the very end I'll post a list of what they were, in case you didn't spot them!_

_Hope you enjoy :)  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

A month or so had passed, and Mary was growing in both size and irritation. After weeks of sawing, hammering and sanding, Matthew's crib was nearing completion. At least, it was nearly finished in form, if not yet nearly complete. The work had been slow, as he was finding less time free from the pressures of work and family to devote to it, particularly now the evenings were drawing in.

Cold November sunlight shone through into the summerhouse as Mary dispassionately surveyed her husband's work. Shivering slightly (it was not called a 'summer'house for no reason) in the crisp afternoon air, hugging her arms about her, she raised an eyebrow disparagingly.

"Well," she considered, a smile playing gently about her lips. "I suppose it's better than I was expecting..."

"Even such scant praise, I suppose, is better than_ I_ was expecting!" Matthew chuckled from his position behind her, leaning his chin on her shoulder. He was well used by now to her gentle mockery of his endeavours.

"Matthew..." she rubbed his arm fondly, leaning her head against his cheek. "I do not mean this to sound unkind if it is, but – it is not quite yet finished, is it?" There was a note of hopefulness in her tone. She would not admit it to him, but if this was the crib in its finished state, it was a little underwhelming!

"No, darling, not at all! There is lots still to do before it is finished." He released her, and she smiled affectionately as he moved to run his hand proudly along the frame, pointing out where work still needed to be done. "You see, this is the basic form but it needs sanding, polishing and varnishing, and then we will need the bedding and coverlets..." He trailed off in thought as he cast his eyes over it.

Mary folded her arms, frowning gently as she thought for a moment.

"Green," she eventually stated.

"What?" Matthew looked up from his labour of love, looking confused.

"Green. I think the coverlets and drapes should be a sage green." She nodded slightly to herself, satisfied with her decision.

"Green..." Matthew repeated slowly. "You seem awfully certain about that, Mary. Are you quite sure?" He thought it best to check these things, being used to her strange fancies when expecting.

"Yes," Mary replied, with no doubt in her mind. "We don't know if the child will be a little girl or a little boy, which limits our colour options rather. White would be so bland, and we cannot have yellow again, when Elizabeth's crib is already so. A delicate sage green is a delightfully fresh, neutral colour." It seemed the perfect, and only, option. She raised an eyebrow as he continued to peer cautiously at her. "Aren't you pleased I'm taking an interest in your scheme at least, dearest?"

"Of course!" Matthew moved to rub her arms fondly. He did not dare quash any slight interest she showed, for it did not appear often. Placing a soft kiss to her lips, he leaned back and smiled indulgently at her, his eyes sparkling. "If you wish for them to be green, then green they shall be!"

"Thank you, darling!" A smug glint shone in her eyes. She expected nothing less than his absolute adherence to her wishes, and never more so than when she was carrying his child!

As Matthew soon discovered, though, fulfilling Mary's wish was not a simple matter. He really wasn't sure where to start looking for sage green fabric of the appropriate material. He enlisted the aid of his mother, but the search proved fruitless. None of the numerous samples he brought back quite met Mary's requirements; it seemed that when she had said 'sage green', she had an extremely particular shade in mind, one that seemed quite unobtainable in Downton, Ripon, Malton, York...

He sighed in frustration as yet another potential was rejected, adding it to the pile of swatches spread across the sitting room table. He had to admit to himself, he had been pleasantly relieved so far at Mary's relative lack of odd cravings during this pregnancy, but it seemed he had rejoiced too soon. They were merely manifesting themselves this time in the form of a desperate need for a precise shade of sage green coverlets.

"Well," he muttered. "At least Lizzie seems to like them..." He grinned fondly as he gently prised one piece from his youngest's mouth, where she had contentedly been chewing it.

"Oh, Matthew," Mary sighed in exasperation as she distractedly combed through Elizabeth's downy hair with her fingers. "You are making a meal out of this."

"_I_ am making a meal out of this?" His brows rose irritably. "Darling, I have trawled through every shop in the county trying to find something which will satisfy you! Would you care to attempt it yourself, if I am failing so miserably?"

"In my condition?" Mary looked at him in disgusted horror. Matthew sighed.

"Are you sure none of these will do... Remember they may look different in natural light." His scant attempt at making her reconsider, he suspected, would be futile.

"Matthew, it is nearly December. We shall not have natural light of an evening for months. It is barely worth considering."

"Of course, dear," he muttered. It was certainly a good job he loved her so very much. Lowering his head into his hands wearily, he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand before raising his head and pressing his lips into a thin smile. "I shall simply have to extend my field of search, not to worry." Why did he pander to her so?

"Thank you, dearest Matthew," she took his hand and squeezed it apologetically. "I know you think I'm being fussy; and I suppose I am, but... I cannot help it, and it suddenly feels like the most important thing in the world." She knew by now that pregnancy made her irrational, but there was little she could do about it, only praying that Matthew would understand this.

He raised an eyebrow in resignation. At least she seemed sorry for it.

"Well," he pondered a moment. "If you recall I must travel to Liverpool next Friday regarding a case... I may be able to find something there."

* * *

><p>Though he was glad for the brief change of scenery, Matthew felt it a shame that he did not have more chance to appreciate his excursion to the grand and thriving city. Most of the day was spent in a dire conference with stuffy clients whose trivial trade problems he really couldn't care less about. In the breaks between meetings, he made his way around the various haberdashers in the city, gaining a considerable amount of new potential fabric swatches. His eyes began to glaze over, all the shades merging into one, and he desperately hoped that finally, one of these would do. He found himself losing the will to care.<p>

As he lay alone and exhausted in his hotel room, Matthew wondered whether he had been exerting himself too much recently. He had imagined that the meetings would continue into the evening, and so to be on the safe side had checked himself into the Adelphi, and booked a train back to Ripon for the next morning. Long hours at work, followed by the toil of caring for Mary and the children as her energy diminished, were taking their toll. He woefully considered that his life would only get more hectic as the arrival of the little one drew near, with no respite afterwards! Yet still, he could not hold it against Mary. It was his duty as a husband and father, and he would continue to uphold that duty with as little complaint as he could.

With a weary groan, he rolled over restlessly. His sleep had been coming difficult of late; a combination of over-exhaustion and the trials of sharing a bed with an increasingly irritable and uncomfortable Mary. Yet now he found that sleep was equally elusive without her, missing the comforting feel of her lying warm against him.

It was little surprise, then, when he overslept the next morning. He had insisted that Molesley remain at Crawley House, and so had no-one to raise the alarm when he did not rouse himself on time. As he stared blearily at his pocket watch, realising the time, he hauled himself up in a panic. If he was not sharpish about it, he would miss his train to Ripon and would have to wait until evening for another. There was no time for a stimulating cup of tea, no time for any sustenance, he simply threw on his clothes, piled his things hurriedly into his briefcase and left.

When he finally arrived home, he flung the door open, dropped his things to the floor and strode quickly to the sitting room, finally allowing himself to fall heavily into a chair.

"Oh!" he exclaimed in surprise, noticing his mother sitting across the room. "Good morning, Mother! To what do I owe the pleasure?" His attention was turned once more as Molesley entered.

"Good morning, Mr Crawley. May I fetch you anything?"

"Molesley, my dear man. Would it be an awful trouble for Mrs Bird to prepare a small breakfast? I found myself leaving Liverpool in rather a hurry this morning and have not yet eaten." Molesley nodded curtly; Matthew smiled gratefully and turned his weary gaze back to his mother.

"Hello, my dear," Isobel greeted her son warmly. "I knew you were arriving back this morning sometime and thought I'd drop in and see how you're getting on. You've been so busy of late, I do worry about you! I hope you don't mind me having waited, with Mary being out."

"Not at all," Matthew muttered. "It's very good of you to drop in, I'm sorry I've been so remiss in seeing you lately. I have been busy."

"My dear, you look absolutely worn out." A concerned frown crossed Isobel's face. "Is everything quite alright?"

"Quite alright," Matthew found himself snapping irritably. "It is simply rather draining to work full time and have to cater to the every whim of my family. And as such I slept in this morning, almost missed my train and have not had a scrap of breakfast!" He flashed an apologetic glance towards his mother for his abrupt response.

"Oh Matthew," Isobel leaned forwards in her chair, a look of concerned understanding crossing her face. She worried that his obvious exhaustion was putting a strain on the young couple. "Have you fallen out with Mary?" Her eyes widened as Matthew's brows shot incredulously up.

"Mother, I have not fallen out with Mary, my irritation is entirely to do with a lack of breakfast!"

"Dear me, Matthew, calm yourself!" Isobel fussed. As she saw the tension seep out of his body, leaning wearily back in his chair, her motherly and nursing instincts kicked in. "I really think you should take some time off, Matthew. You are doing yourself no good at all."

"I don't have the time to take time off, Mother."

Thankfully, any further pressing from his mother was quieted by the return of Mary and the children. Arabella and Reginald rushed excitedly over to their grandmother to show her the new hat and bow tie they had respectively been gifted by their mother. Isobel turned her attention fondly to them; she had missed them as much as Matthew lately! Mary smiled, little Elizabeth in her arms as Julia bounced into Matthew's lap.

"Papa! Looks what I's got from Mama!" The little girl eagerly thrust a pretty bow hairpin into her father's hands.

"What a pretty thing!" Matthew exclaimed, eyes shining as his previous irritability melted. "You are very lucky to have such a generous Mama, my angel! Now make sure you look after it! Shall I put it in for you?"

"Oh do!"

Mary laughed, utterly charmed as she watched Matthew attempt to pin the hairpiece into Julia's fine blond curls. Isobel turned her attention briefly from the two eldest to smile fondly at her dear son and his family, pleased that he was distracted from his troubles.

"Darling, you might make a ladies maid yet!" Mary smirked as she labouredly moved across to Matthew. She carefully deposited Elizabeth into his arms next to Julia, and leaned down to kiss him fondly in greeting for just a moment longer than necessary. "How was your trip, my love?"

"Utterly dull. I'm pleased to be home." He gently bounced his daughters on each knee with practised ease, grinning as they giggled delightedly. "If you fetch my briefcase, I sourced some more possibilities for the coverlets' fabric while I was there."

Isobel caught Mary's eye and with a firm gaze instructed her to sit down. Mary lowered herself carefully into the chair next to Matthew's, as Isobel went to fetch the swatches.

Arabella and Reginald crowded around the table as Isobel spread them out.

"I like that one, it's pretty! May I take it to make a table cloth for my doll's house Papa, if Mama doesn't want it?"

Matthew nodded indulgently. He raised his eyes hopefully to Mary as he saw her expression change. Her eyes had fixed upon a piece lying in the centre. She leaned forward with some difficulty, stretching her hand out tentatively.

"Matthew, that one." Her fingers closed around it and she held it up in front of her, looking absolutely enthralled at the scrap of fabric. "It's just right."

Isobel chuckled as Matthew sank back into his chair, the movement causing Julia and Elizabeth to fall happily against his chest. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, a look of utter relief spread across his features.

"Thank heavens!" A quiet groan of relief escaped his lips. He raised his head, eyes narrowing warily at his wife. "Are you quite sure now, darling?"

"Absolutely!" Mary leaned across and placed a firm kiss to his cheek. "You are quite wonderful, my dear Matthew. Thank you."

Several days later, he arrived home to a quiet house. The children, he surmised, were out on some excursion with Miss Beecham and Mary, he expected, would be resting. He padded gently upstairs, hearing a quiet sniff from the direction of the nursery.

Pushing open the door, he saw Mary standing in the middle of the room staring despondently at the walls, the approved swatch in her hand.

"Mary?" He cautiously approached and placed a hand on her back.

"Matthew!" She spun around to face him, her eyes despairing.

"Darling, what is it?" All sorts of worries tumbled through his mind, and he tried to conceal the panic in his expression.

"Oh, Matthew, I... I think I made a mistake. I think I do not like the green after all." Why on earth had she thought that sage green would go well in a room painted duck-egg blue and yellow? Had she been mad? And she had sent her poor darling Matthew trawling everywhere trying to please her whim! Pressing guilt filled her as she awaited some reaction from him, tears springing to her eyes.

After a moments stunned silence, Matthew sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes narrowed bitterly, bringing his face close to hers. His voice trembled in disbelief as he spoke, though it still came out sounding rather more fond than agitated.

"Woman, you have been pestering me for weeks about that material..." His thumb absently wiped her tears, an unconscious gesture of affection despite his frustration. "And now you say you've changed your mind?"

Mary bit her lip, nodding ashamedly. Matthew's expression softened at her dismay. He reflected that, considering how she had suffered through pregnancy and childbirth four times, soon to be five, it had not been so much to ask that he find some fabric. He hugged her closely to him, rubbing her back soothingly, rolling his eyes heavenwards.

"I'm sorry, Matthew, why didn't you tell me that green would not go in the room at all!" Mary wailed into his shoulder. Matthew continued to shush her, contemplating that he was sure he probably had.

"It's of no matter, darling. I'll get something else. I think lilac would go well myself." He continued to murmur comfortingly in her ear until her quiet sobs calmed, trying to soothe himself as well as her. After all the effort he had gone to! With a gentle sigh, he pulled back, softly kissing her tears away. He smiled resignedly at her, unable to remain angry considering her condition.

"Lilac?" she sniffed quietly. "Yes, I think that would go very nicely. Thank you, Matthew; I'm sure you should hate me!" Blinking sorrowfully up at him, she attempted to raise an apologetic smile.

"Mary, how could I possibly?" He held her face tenderly in his hands, gazing reassuringly at her. "How could I when you have done so much for me, when you _are_ doing so much?" Carefully, he reached a hand down between them to rest gently on her large belly, smiling as he felt a nudge against his hand as the baby shifted. "You are quite the loveliest creature in the world."

"Me, lovely!" A sharp, incredulous laugh left her lips. "I think there is little that is lovely about me at all at the moment! I am huge, I am irritable, I have treated you very unfairly... Matthew, I am afraid my loveliness is in my appearance only. My clothes, my –"

"Not at all," Matthew interrupted her firmly. He smiled sadly at her, distressed that she should think such of herself. Looking her very determinedly in the eye, his voice was warm and sincere. "Your loveliness is in every ounce of your being, Mary."

And as if to prove it, and fully dispel his frustration at her indecisiveness that had caused him so much trouble, he drew her into a kiss, not knowing whether to be relived or distressed at his complete lack of ability to reprimand her with any seriousness.

* * *

><p>AN: _Thank you for reading! As always I'd love to know what you thought, good or bad! :) _


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: _Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter to you! I got distracted by an urge for an angst fix (check out _'How to Say Goodbye?' _to see how that turned out!), and then a lack of muse. Booo. Thankfully AriadneO lent me hers (thank you!). Anyway, here is the final chapter of this fluffy endeavour. If you thought that Matthew and Reginald was sickly sweet... Well, you'll definitely be needing a dentist after this. _

_Thanks to Silverduck as ever for beta-ing, and thanks must go to my lovely Sarah for challenging me to write it in the first place!_

_Disclaimer: Characters belong to Downton Abbey, and one line of this to Lark Rise to Candleford.  
><em>

_Hope you enjoy :)_

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 4<span>**

Matthew looked around him, a bright smile lighting his face. From her reclined position on the couch, Mary tried to stifle her grin at how stupidly proud he looked. For it was mid December; Christmas was approaching and this year, with Mary in her current condition, it was left entirely to Matthew to decorate. Well, Matthew and four eager little pairs of hands. Eager, but not necessarily helpful, Matthew considered as he surveyed the enthusiastic but haphazard decorative attempts of their children. They were currently putting the finishing touches to the tree; and there was a distinct line partway up beyond their reach where the decoration became suddenly much more ordered. Red and gold bells and baubles glittered in the firelight, little paper angels spinning gently from where they hung on the branches. Playing softly in the background were carols on a stylish new gramophone; an early present for Mary, as Matthew suspected that with the baby due any day now, Mary might not have so much time to savour it if he waited until Christmas Day.

"Now there's just one thing left to do!" he exclaimed excitedly, sweeping Lizzie up into his arms. "Bella, will you pass me the angel please?" Arabella immediately leaped up, carefully removing the delicate angel from its wrappings. Reginald and Julia scooted backwards to sit against the couch to see, as Mary lay a hand comfortingly on their shoulders.

When Arabella had placed the angel into Lizzie's grasping hands, Matthew stretched his arms up until the little girl was level with the top of the tree. His quietly whispered words of encouragement guided her until the angel was placed carefully into its proper place on the very top. Grinning from ear to ear, Matthew lowered her down, pressing a fond kiss to her soft cheek. Arabella, Reginald and Julia clapped enthusiastically, leaping up and throwing their arms around their father to celebrate their hard work. At a nudge from Matthew, they soon crossed to their mother, anxious that she should not feel left out of the festivities.

"Mama, do you like how I strung the bells along the tree?" Arabella asked excitedly.

"I do, darling, they look beautiful," Mary smiled. "And Reginald, I think you managed the baubles very well!"

"And I, Mama?" Julia piped up, patting her mother's knee.

"Yes, my angel! You have arranged the presents beautifully all under the tree." Julia scrambled up onto the couch beside Mary, curling into her side.

"See, Mama, we and Papa managed just by ourselves!" Arabella smiled proudly.

"We certainly did!" Matthew chuckled as Lizzie's arms tightened affectionately around his neck. "And I think we're in need of a well deserved rest. Come now, why don't you fetch the picture books that Granny found for you last week. You can read them by the fire before dinner."

The children all thought this a wonderful idea, and dashed off immediately to fetch them, with Lizzie stumbling eagerly after them once Matthew had set her down. Heaving a sigh of relief, he settled himself carefully by Mary, facing her as she lay back against the cushioned arm. Taking her hands in his and resting them on her belly, he leaned over and kissed her softly.

"Well done, darling," Mary murmured against his lips. "You did manage quite well after all. Maybe I should leave it to you every year!" She chuckled as her patronisation was swiftly rebuked with a firmer, less relenting kiss. As Matthew sat back up, he clutched her hands protectively.

"How are you feeling this evening? Any signs yet?"

Mary frowned at her belly.

"No, not yet. I am feeling well enough; I must confess that watching your decorating antics has provided a welcome distraction from all my aches and pains!"

Doctor Clarkson had visited a few days ago, and had warned them that the baby might likely make an appearance any day now. Matthew found himself permanently on tenterhooks; thankfully Mary had learnt by now to take each day as it came and not worry herself over it. At least, Matthew reflected, the crib had been finished and was ready for when it would be needed. For the past week it had lain under protective covers in a corner of the pantry, much to Mrs Bird's annoyance; but there it would remain. Matthew was determined to keep the finished article as a surprise for Mary when the baby arrived. He had to admit that he was rather proud of it; it had actually turned out better than his own expectations. He knew that he was not the most able of carpenters, but he had worked hard to produce a crib that he considered to be of high enough quality to carry his child. Mary's scepticism had not been forgotten; he had said he would prove her wrong in her doubts, and he was convinced that he would succeed.

A week later, there was still no sign of the baby, and Mary was growing increasingly frustrated; a fact which wasn't helped by the concerned fussing of Matthew and their parents. Even the mistletoe that Matthew had hung over the sitting room door (and frequently caught her under) had failed to rouse her spirits. She was deeply restless and uncomfortable, and Matthew was struggling to juggle the demands of her and their excitable children. He had taken the week around Christmas off work; an absolute blessing. Miss Beecham had been invaluable in her support, attending to the needs of the little ones, but now it was Christmas eve and she had returned to her family for a couple of days. Matthew had been rushing to and fro like a lunatic all day, finalising preparations and presents, ensuring that everything was ready for the following day, all the while on edge in case Mary's condition changed.

Now, though, the evening drew in and he allowed himself, for the first time in nigh on a week, to properly relax. The fire was lit, the stockings were hung, and the soft sound of carols floated across the air. Reginald had badgered Mrs Bird all afternoon, finally proudly obtaining a fresh mince pie and a carrot which now lay by the fireside for Saint Nicholas and his reindeer. Everything was in place.

It was a picture of perfect family contentment. Matthew settled himself on the floor against the sofa as Mary lay reclined upon it, her hand resting on his shoulder, tickling affectionately at his neck and occasionally twisting into his hair.

"Are you all ready?" Matthew called to the children, who were utterly engrossed by the sight of gifts and stockings, wondering what joys they would bring forth in the morning. At his question, they all eagerly scuttled over to him. Lizzie clambered straight into his lap, as Julia snuggled into his side, Arabella leaning her head affectionately on his arm beside her. Reginald tucked himself snugly under Matthew's other arm. Tears sprung to Mary's eyes as she watched from above; the children's adoration for their father was blindingly clear. Sometimes she did worry whether they were much fonder of him than of her. She did love them so very dearly, but perhaps wasn't always quite so good at showing it as Matthew. Her worries were quickly quieted as Reginald suddenly twisted round to smile at her, reaching his small hand up to briefly clutch hers where it lay on Matthew's shoulder.

"Is Mama ready too?" he questioned, not wanting her to miss out.

"Yes, my darling, I am." She smiled as she ruffled his soft hair affectionately.

Matthew had swiftly adopted the tradition, even when Arabella was still too young to fully appreciate it, of reading _The Night Before Christmas_ to his children on Christmas eve, before they went to bed to dream of snow and sleighbells. It had been faithfully carried out every year, with Mary continuing the tradition herself those hard years when Matthew was serving in France. She had gladly done so, the action making her feel some connection to him when he was so far away. Now, casting an eye quickly around him to make sure everyone was settled, Matthew opened the precious book resting on his lap. In a hushed voice, he began to read.

"'_Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,  
>Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."<em>

The children listened intently, quietly enthralled as their father read. His low, soothing voice settled them from their excitement of the day, preparing them for blissful sleep. He smiled as he felt them relax against him, their eyes lazily following the words.

He had just reached the thrilling climax of Saint Nicholas sweeping down the chimney, and was partway through describing his jolly appearance, when he was interrupted by a soft cry from Mary. Her hand suddenly gripped his shoulder a little more tightly, making his heart jump in a familiar panic.

"Mary..." He twisted around awkwardly, the unspoken question in his eyes. She simply nodded, biting her lip nervously. Feeling his pulse begin to race, Matthew took a deep breath. He would be no help at all to Mary if he wasn't calm himself! He hugged his arms about the children, before snapping the book shut on his lap. "I'm terribly sorry children, but I think that your story may have to be finished by Granny." Sensing that something was amiss, each sat up properly, concerned frowns lining their faces. "Now then, you remember what we said would happen when Mama's baby decided to come along?" Swiftly standing, Matthew pulled them to their feet. He took Lizzie in his arms and rubbed Julia's back reassuringly; Arabella and Reginald were less concerned, being quite used to this routine by now. "Run along and get your things together, and Granny will be here shortly to take you to the Abbey. Alright?" Gently patting their backs in encouragement, he flashed them a quick smile of reassurance. Arabella confidently took the hands of Julia and Lizzie, and the four went to do as their father had asked; but not before each had given their mother a quick, comforting hug.

Matthew instantly moved to ring the bell for Molesley, feeling himself calm as he reminded himself that they had managed this successfully four times before. Well, Mary had managed it; he always felt so pitifully useless. Molesley was swiftly sent to telephone to the Abbey, Doctor Clarkson was summoned (along with Isobel, who insisted upon supporting things each time), and fresh towels and blankets were readied.

Before long, the children had been sent back in the car with Lady Grantham to wait at the Abbey. Matthew was a little disappointed for them, after they'd been so excited with their stockings hung, but while the option was there he preferred that they were out of the way; for their own sake as much as anything else. He found it difficult enough to cope with the unbearable wait of labour, and the clear pain Mary went through; he certainly could not expect them to deal with it too. Lord Grantham remained at Crawley House, knowing how unbearable Matthew found it, and had grown used to offering him quiet support.

Long, tedious hours passed into the night. Mary had deigned to allow Matthew to remain with her for most of them, finding his presence by her side a comfort during the trying wait. Now well into Christmas morning, though still before the dawn, he left her as the time drew near. Mary would not have said that she had any shame in front of Matthew, not now; but she was somehow too stubbornly proud to allow him to see her in this state. And Matthew of course grudgingly respected her wishes, departing with a firm kiss and a proud, reassuring squeeze of her hand.

Agitatedly he paced back and forth outside the door, feeling tense and anxious. He hated it. Absolutely hated it. He physically winced as yet another agonised scream reverberated around the house. Standing quietly to the side, a comforting presence, Robert observed the young man's discomfort knowing sadly that there was no way to relieve it. He smiled wryly to himself; yes, it may be that women went through the pain of labour, but sometimes he wondered if they ever realised that it was certainly no easy task for their husbands to simply stand by uselessly in the meantime.

Barely a minute or so had passed before Mary screamed again; longer this time, louder, a raw, almost animalistic sound of pure agony. Even Robert flinched this time for his daughter. In utter despair, Matthew ceased his pacing and sagged against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing it would block out the sound. He turned to rest his forehead upon the wall, raising a hand and pressing his palm to it, as if he could somehow reach her through the brick and plaster. His shoulders shook slightly as he let out an enormous, shuddering sigh. Robert calmly placed a hand upon his shoulder; a small gesture of solidarity and understanding, and Matthew welcomed it.

Suddenly, there was silence. His breath coming in shallow gasps, Matthew raised his head and stared blindly at the wall, as though if he stared hard enough he'd be able to see straight through it. He felt Robert's hand tense upon his shoulder. The silence, Matthew always thought, was almost even worse than the screams. Had something happened? Had it all gone terribly wrong? Was everything alright? His heart almost stopped, hardly daring to breathe in case it might drown out a sound, waiting. His fingers clutched uselessly at the wall where his hand still lay against it.

And then, the most wonderful, beautiful sound filled the air, loud and undeniable, as the tiny babe announced its presence to the world. Matthew's entire body sagged in relief, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to prevent a tear slipping out. Slowly, he pushed himself to standing, turning and smiling weakly in grateful relief at the earl. Tapping his thighs nervously, he resumed his pacing as he waited. Eventually, after several long, unbearable moments, the door clicked softly open and his mother poked her head out into the corridor. Matthew snapped around to look at her, his eyes questioning desperately.

"Well?" he gasped.

Isobel beamed at him.

"Everything is perfectly as it should be, Matthew." She paused a moment, mischievously enjoying the fact that he was practically bouncing in nervous anticipation. "Now, would you like to come and meet your son?"

Matthew's nervous bounce suddenly stopped dead, his mouth dropping open as he stared in delighted shock at his mother. She simply smiled and nodded. Her eyes cast over to meet Robert's, sharing a smile of relief and joy as Matthew dashed past, pushing his way into the room. Mary was sitting up on the bed, looking flushed and exhausted, her hair plastered to her face and her skin glistening. Clutched tenderly in her arms was a tiny bundle. As Matthew entered, entirely ignoring Doctor Clarkson who respectfully left the room, her eyes shot up to his, a grin of absolute and pure joy spreading across her face at her husband. He ran to her, perching himself gently on the bed beside her.

"Mary..." he breathed her name in wonder, his heart bursting with love and pride. "Mary, you absolute darling, you treasure." Repeated exclamations of affection spilled from his lips as he kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her lips. Pulling back, his gaze wandered almost reverently down to the tiny figure in her arms, gently squirming and gurgling. Mary lifted the babe up slightly, tenderly edging the blanket away from its face so that Matthew could properly see his son. Matthew gently reached a finger out and tickled the baby's wonderfully soft cheek, his eyes shining with unshed tears, overcome with emotion. The dawn light was just beginning to creep into the room, and he suddenly remembered that it was Christmas day. As Mary gently passed their son into his arms, he gazed adoringly at his wife and child, reflecting that he could not imagine a single better way for Christmas to be heralded in.

The morning passed by in a pleasant blur. Lady Grantham soon enough returned with the children, all eager to meet their new baby brother (Reginald particularly so; the poor boy had been beginning to feel a little bit outnumbered). Gifts were unwrapped and stockings emptied, and a wonderful atmosphere of delight hung about the house. Now, feeling pleasantly lethargic and full after Mrs Bird's exquisite Christmas dinner, the family gathered in the nursery around the crib. Mary reclined, curled peacefully, on a chaise longue over the crib, and the children knelt on the floor around it, flitting between playing with their new toys or peering curiously at their little brother. Matthew sat contentedly on the floor watching his family at rest, firmly believing that he couldn't possibly feel happier.

He was wrong. The scene was only improved as the door clicked open with the appearance of Molesley and a tray of tea. Having served Mary, and passed cakes out to the children, he resumed his position on the floor with his teacup and saucer in hand. He glanced up at his wife, his lips quirking upwards as she gazed with eyes filled with wonder into the crib, oblivious to all else around her. Raising an eyebrow, Matthew broke the peaceful silence.

"What is your final, considered opinion then, darling?"

Her eyes flashed to his, her lips parting a fraction. She frowned gently, not understanding him. He nodded down at the crib, his eyes twinkling at her.

"Oh..."

"Come, dearest. You didn't think me capable of building it! Would you judge it to be a satisfactory article for our newborn son to sleep in, now that you see the finished product?" His lips twitched, suspecting her answer.

Smiling in fond annoyance, Mary cast her eyes carefully over the crib. Though she hated to admit it, it was beautifully made. He had worked so hard on it, crafted it with such love, and that knowledge served only to make it seem all the more beautiful in her eyes. The legs and struts of the basket were smoothly shaped and polished, and soft, fluttering violet drapes hung from the bar over the babe's head, down to where he lay tucked contentedly amongst soft, downy furnishings. She blinked away a tear, replying to Matthew with her gaze still lovingly fixed upon their little son.

"Oh Matthew," she sighed gently. "You know full well that I think it could not be more perfect... It is beautiful." She chuckled softly as she correctly imagined him sitting smugly back against the wall, looking stupidly proud of himself. Well, she reflected, not stupidly; for his pride was, irritatingly, well deserved.

"High praise indeed!" Matthew exclaimed in delight. Ceasing from their play a moment, Arabella tapped Reginald on the arm, nodding a smile at their parents. They didn't understand the games their Mama and Papa played, but they were fun to watch nonetheless. Julia and Lizzie were oblivious, gleefully playing with a beautiful little set of miniature horses from their mother. "Does this mean then," Matthew continued, "that you admit to being mistaken in your estimation of my abilities? That I was, in fact, correct?"

Mary briefly raised her eyes to glare at him with great affection.

"I suppose..." she grudgingly mumbled.

"Ah," a small noise of smug satisfaction left Matthew's lips. After a fond smirk in Mary's direction, he very deliberately returned his attention to his tea, raising the delicate teacup to his lips. As he was about to take a sip, his gaze suddenly caught Reginald's eyes watching him in fascination. With love filling and swirling in his soul, he realised that this, this, was Christmas. He threw a cheeky wink to his eldest son over the rim of his teacup. "You will learn this soon enough, my boy; what Christmas joy to prove a woman wrong!"

Grinning delightedly, he took a very smug sip of his tea.

**Fin**

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><p>AN: _Thank you so much for sticking with me and reading! I hope you've enjoyed it. I'd really love to know what you thought, so reviews are definitely welcomed!_

_For interest's sake, these are the lines that I took from Lark Rise to Candleford:_

_"Woman, you have been pestering me for weeks!"_

_"There's a baby every time he so much as looks fondly upon me!"_

_"What Christmas joy to prove a woman wrong!"_

_"Have you fallen out with (Mary)?" "Ma'am, I have not fallen out with (Mary), my irritation is entirely to do with a lack of breakfast!"_

_"You did look handsome (...)" "(I have been...), and all my wife can say is handsome! There's a woman's thinking for you.." _

_"My loveliness is in my appearance only. My clothes, my -" "Not at all! Your loveliness is in every ounce of your being."_

_Aaaaaaand I just realised that I missed one out. GRRRR. Hmm... Epilogue...?  
><em>


	5. Epilogue

A/N: _Finally! It's here! After literally MONTHS of this idea bopping around in my head, continually being shunted out by more pressing ideas (seeing as this is only an epilogue), I have FINALLY written the concluding epiloge to To Prove a Woman Wrong._

_I'd like to take this opportunity to say a huge thank you to everyone who enjoyed, alerted, favourited and reviewed this fic - I had HUGE fun writing it! Oh, and please allow me a quick mention of the Highclere Fan Awards (Link in my profile!) _- _I was really THRILLED to receive nominations! This fic has been nominated for the categories of Past/Future, Romance/Fluff and Complete Multi-Chapter. Thank you SO MUCH for nominations, voting is currently underway so if you feel so inclined, please go and check it out to vote for your favourite fics (I don't mean mine by any means!)_

_My reasons for writing this epilogue were twofold._

_1) I realised I missed one of the Lark Rise lines I was supposed to include in the main fic! It's in here. :)_

_2) Mary's line "There's a baby every time he so much as looks fondly upon me" was sort of negated by Mary TOTALLY coming on to Matthew in the same chapter. This redresses that balance. :)_

_Anyway, this is it! Yay!_

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><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

"_Rockabye Baby, on the tree-top,  
>When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.<br>When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,  
>And down will come Baby, cradle and all…"<em>

Mary sat beside the crib, singing softly as Nicholas, tucked up snugly under warm, lavender blankets, wriggled contentedly. His tiny, baby lips smacked together as his tiny breaths slowed and regulated, his tiny chubby hands up by his cheeks with one curled tightly around Mary's finger. She continued humming quietly as she gently rocked the crib, smiling down at him with a warm, adoring gaze. The words made little sense, she reflected wryly, but what did these things matter? She wondered how much he understood, how much he was aware of. Tiny, he was so tiny… So precious.

The house was peaceful that afternoon, to Mary's pleasure. In the fresh March weather, shoots were starting to appear and buds beginning to show on the hedgerows. The children were enthralled by the changes of spring, and so Miss Beecham had dutifully taken them out to the estate today to explore the burgeoning wildlife that was just appearing. They were terribly excited, particularly Lizzie, who had been too young the year before to appreciate any of it, really.

Darling Lizzie had turned two, now, just a few days ago. Mary smiled fondly at the memory of the little girl's excitement as they had showered affection upon her; and how generous all their family and friends had been with gifts! Seeing as the house was so quiet, Mary decided it would be a good opportunity to make a start on the thank-you letters. She'd spent the morning doing all those little odd jobs that she never seemed to find the time to do when the children were around, had taken a break for lunch, had popped out to arrange the newspaper announcement of Nicholas' christening which had taken place last week, before taking a precious half hour simply to sit with the babe. He utterly delighted her, as she tickled him and sang to him and held him.

Now that he had fallen asleep, she decided she must settle down once more to these letters. It would appear terribly ungrateful to leave them any longer. Gently prising her finger free of his grasp, she bent and kissed his soft, powdery cheek, and tiptoed out of the nursery.

The writing desk in front of the sitting room's bay window was delightfully situated. Mary sat with neat piles of paper and envelopes in front of her, along with a well-used leather bound address book, a pot of stamps and her very best pen (a birthday present from Matthew last year, engraved with their initials). With the gramophone playing her favourite gentle jazz record, she quickly settled and was soon progressing well down the list of gifts and their donors, enjoying the flow of black ink across the crisp white sheets.

It didn't feel as though much time had passed at all when she heard the familiar chug and skid of Matthew's motorcycle upon his return home. She smiled to herself, feeling the same little thrill that she felt every day when he came home, but this afternoon did not rise to greet him. She was getting on so well with the letters, and didn't want to interrupt her train of thought mid-sentence.

She heard the front door click open, heard Molesley welcome him home.

"Good afternoon, Mr Crawley. Lady Mary's in the sitting room – shall I fetch some tea?"

"Afternoon, Molesley. No, thank you – I may take some in a while."

"Very well, Sir."

Their voices drifted through from the hallway. Mary raised an eyebrow. Matthew refusing a cup of tea on his arrival home usually meant one of a very few things. A knowing smile played about her lips, but… no, she was busy with this now; whatever he had in mind could very well wait a little while. She fell so very easily at the slightest encouragement from him, it was really quite ridiculous. Her frustrated words to her mother, many months ago, rang in her mind. _'There's a baby every time he so much as looks fondly upon me!"_ Well, she thought, she would not give in so easily today.

She heard him enter the sitting room behind her.

"Hello dear," she murmured distractedly as she signed her name with a flourish and blotted the paper.

"Hello, darling." She heard his footsteps cross the room. His intent was immediately obvious in the lilting tone of his voice. She sealed the envelope. "It's very quiet this afternoon," he murmured as his hands lay to rest on her shoulders, bending to kiss her tenderly on the cheek. Mary turned her head slightly towards him but still did not look up as she wrote out the address.

"Yes! The children are out exploring the wonders of the natural world with Miss Beecham and Nicholas is asleep upstairs."

"Ah," he smiled. Today, for a change, he was pleased to hear it.

"How was your day at work?" Another sheet of paper; Crawley House, Downton, at the top. _Dear Lord and Lady Flincher… _She mustn't look at him. She could picture exactly the expression in his eyes and if she were to look at him…

"Dreadfully dull," Matthew sighed. "Full of dreary meetings, with dreary clients, discussing dreary land settlements." His hands, which rested on her shoulders still, moved to gently brush down her upper arms, up again, across the back of her neck, one passing up to her hair… He bent his head close to hers and murmured softly. "I have spent the entire, dreary day longing to simply come home to my darling wife and…" The rest of his sentence was whispered right into Mary's ear.

"Matthew!" she gasped sharply, a warm blush staining her cheeks. Her lips pressed tightly together in an attempt not to smile, though they twitched in protest. She felt mildly affronted at his presumption to assume that she would simply drop everything to fall into his arms the moment he returned home… As if her entire day was spent simply waiting for him with no further purpose! She gripped her pen a little tighter, trying to ignore the hot flush of desire in the pit of her belly.

"Darling…" he murmured deeply. His hands were warm on her back and on her leg, gently massaging her thigh as he brushed feather-soft kisses over her shoulder. Mary wriggled on the chair, fighting her growing arousal. Nicholas was barely two months old, her body was only just recovering and surely not again…

"Matthew! You must see that I'm busy – I know you think that my work at home is of less importance than yours but these letters must go out – unless you'd like Granny breathing down our necks for the next month as we are said to be ungrateful!" Her voice grew increasingly high and breathless as she stared determinedly at the sheet in front of her, though she had not written anything for about a minute now.

Matthew pressed one more kiss to her marble cheek and straightened, smiling.

"Of course, dear. Please, then, don't let me distract you," he said softly. He watched with amused interest as her shoulders slumped the merest fraction when he stepped away. If she wanted to play it that way… it suited him to allow her a fleeting victory. He was fully aware of the fact that the more resolvedly she ignored him, the more it meant she wanted him.

As her pen scratched furiously across the paper, Matthew wandered to the fireplace. He spent a moment looking at it, at the various ornaments and photographs on it. Their wedding, Arabella as a baby, himself in uniform, his medals, Reginald, the two of them by his motorcycle after the war, various family portraits… He smiled fondly with the memory of each scene. Taking a deep breath, he looked up then at the fresh vase of flowers in the centre of the mantelpiece.

"These are beautiful, darling," he murmured as his fingers traced distractedly along a delicate petal's edge. He glanced back towards her, appraising her reaction. Nothing yet. "Such a complementing shade of blue."

"Mmm? Thank you, dear."

Matthew smiled, knowing that behind her dismissive tone she'd be secretly pleased of his attention again (no matter how saccharine he was being).

"You know, the colour reminds me of the dress you wore for your mother's birthday – it's so fresh in my mind."

"That's because you spent the entire evening staring very intently at it, darling…" Mary smiled slyly, skin prickling all over at the memory of his eyes on her that night, and his haste to shed the dress he had so admired when they got home. Oh, he was trying – his entreating compliments were entirely out of character and she knew he was simply saying such things to soften her – but she would not give in so easily!

"Mm."

Matthew watched as she purposefully folded the paper and slid it into the envelope. He walked back to the little table, pulling out a chair to her left and sitting down, his eyes flickering over her as she held up the envelope and ran her tongue along the gummed edge to seal it. He moistened his lips, pulse fluttering as she continued to fix her concentration on what she was doing, seemingly oblivious to him (though both knew it was a carefully held act).

As she continued to write, Matthew's eyes moved heavily between her lips, gently pursed in concentration (occasionally she bit her lip gently or her tongue flicked over them) and her slender hands. Her hand closest to him lay flat on the table, holding the sheet of paper down. After a little while of contentedly watching, Matthew leaned an elbow on the table and lifted his hand to hers, stroking the backs of her fingers lightly, so lightly. Mary's eyes flicked across to where they met, but still refused to acknowledge it, though Matthew could feel her tremble slightly under his touch.

"You have such beautiful hands," he eventually murmured quietly. Mary's lips twitched into a smile. He pressed his advantage. "I love to watch them." His breath caught slightly as he saw Mary blush, wondering if she was thinking (as he was) about some of the things he had watched (and felt) her hands do… Mary coughed.

"Well, as long as you're just watching and not stopping me from writing, I shan't mind," she said distractedly. She was dangerously close to giving in, it had been easier when he was over by the fireplace but now she could see him out of the corner of her eye, but no…

"Of course!" He sounded mockingly affronted, before his voice softened once more to a contemplative tone. "I haven't heard you play the piano in a long time, darling. I wish you would." Matthew continued his gentle playing with the fingers of her free hand. "You have such a delicate touch, I love to hear you -"

"Matthew!" Her pen finally slammed down on the table. "I will accept no more of your flattery!" Matthew simply smiled amusedly at her as she teasingly rebuked him. Her pulse was racing alarmingly from all his attentions, and intentions… "We both know perfectly well what you're trying to do, but these letters won't write themselves, you know!" A gentle blush coloured her cheeks as she met his eyes for the first time since he had come in. His fingers were still tracing lightly over her hand, making her shiver.

Matthew smiled, looking at her with deep fondness.

Mary's parted lips trembled as she lost herself in his gaze. Her resolve was destroyed in that look. Her expression softened, she twisted and went to shift towards him…

Matthew stood up. "I'm terribly sorry, darling, I've done nothing but distract you since I came in. Do forgive me…" He bent and pressed a fleeting kiss to her cheek before turning, walking calmly over his armchair and sitting down, casually folding out his newspaper. Hidden behind its broad sheets, he grinned mischievously to himself, just picturing Mary's expression.

She stared, open-mouthed, at him as he walked away from her. Oh, he was abominable! He set her entire body aflame and then backed off! Mary knew perfectly well that he would smugly be waiting for her to give in and come to him, now he had broken her defence… Well, if he thought that, he could very well think again. With a quiet little huff of dissatisfaction, she turned sharply back to the table and picked up her pen once more. With far greater force than necessary, she pressed a stamp to the envelope and whipped out another sheet of paper.

After a few minutes of reading in silence, able to hear only the furious scribble of Mary's pen, Matthew peered over the top of his newspaper. Her shoulders were hunched and tense. He pursed his lips. She was very determined today! Glancing at his watch, he realised he'd been home now for nearly fifteen minutes and… hadn't gotten very far at all.

Slowly, he stood up. Mary straightened a little hopefully. Instead of going back to her, however, Matthew walked across the room to the gramophone, now silent since the record had finished. He spent a moment or two flicking through the various records they owned, before simply setting the needle back onto the record that was already in.

Lazily lilting jazz music filled the room. Matthew turned the volume a fraction higher. Without saying a word, he finally went to stand beside Mary and merely held his hand out, smiling gently.

Mary looked up at him breathlessly. She was annoyed, annoyed at him and the ease of his control at her, annoyed at herself… but quietly thrilled at how delightfully charming he always managed to be. With a tremulous smile she laid down her pen and stood up, her eyes never leaving his as she took his hand.

They slipped into each other's arms perfectly naturally, into their comfortable, familiar hold. It was not a formal dance hold, it did not need to be like this… They were closer; Matthew's hand was on her hip, her arm curled around his back as her head rested on his shoulder, their joined hands clasped closely between them as they slowly turned about the sitting room. Mary released a little sigh of contentment, prompting Matthew to kiss the top of her head then rest his cheek there affectionately. All earlier teasing and taunting was forgotten as they shuffled in the middle of the room, around the couch, utterly relaxed and happy. A deep warmth spread through Mary. She could never resist him. She never wanted to.

Matthew wasn't sure when they had stopped, but he suddenly realised that they weren't dancing any more.

Tenderly, he lifted his hand from her hip and clasped the back of her head, tracing his fingers along her earlobe and down her jaw to her chin, tipping her head up gently. Then he kissed her, softly, breathing in deeply as the familiar thrill shivered through him. Mary sighed, draped her arms around his neck and kissed him slowly back, savouring him after such a long and delicious build-up.

After several long, sweet moments, Matthew leaned back, his arms hooked leisurely around her back where his hands rested at the small of it. He gazed warmly at her, bursting with love, lips twitching into a fond smile.

"Have we reached a truce, darling?"

Mary blushed a little.

"My dearest love, I don't think there was ever a conflict for us to call a truce on!" Her voice was low and seductive as her hand came around to rest gently on Matthew's chest, her fingers playing lightly on his collar and already working his tie loose, without even thinking about it. "I believe you know full well that you had me the moment you came in the door…"

"Hmm, perhaps," he smiled fondly and kissed her again. It was the lightest of kisses but the thought of what they had teased about suddenly flooded him with desire and he kissed her deeper, releasing a soft moan and tightening his arms around her for a moment. "Now then," he murmured into her ear. "About that –" Mary giggled heartily as he repeated his earlier wish. The letters were quite forgotten.

"Oh Matthew," she gasped, smirking at him with a dark glint in her eyes. "Well, you have been working awfully hard all day…"

She ran her finger down his cheek, over his lips and down his chin, making his breath catch shallowly as he gazed at her, transfixed. With one more searing kiss to his lips, Mary skilfully whipped his tie off (loosening his collar in the same motion) and flung it across the back of the couch, before grabbing his hand and tugging him behind her out of the sitting room and upstairs. He needed no encouragement and followed her eagerly, grinning in anticipation.

All he had to do was look at her fondly, with _that_ look in his eyes and _that_ smile on his lips… Mary had no defence. She didn't want one. She loved him utterly. She loved their five darling children utterly. If they had any more – it was not a small possibility, considering her weakness to him – she would love them utterly too. As they sank into each other's arms in bed, Mary felt as though she couldn't care less if they had ten more children, or twenty, even… She would love them all, but most of all _him_.

Though perhaps, come a few months time, she would not be thinking quite the same thing…

**Really the End! :)**

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><p>AN: _Well, there we have it! Thank you so much for reading. For those curious, the line from Lark Rise in this was "I will accept no more of your flattery!", serving as the impetus for Matthew's rather cheesy flirtation attempts. Really, I think he'd have had more immediate success if he'd have just carried on kissing her, but hopefully it was still entertaining! It goes without saying that reviews and comments are massively appreciated!_

_Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :)_


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